


Amends

by hearmerory



Series: Change of Address [17]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Apologies, Autistic Zuko (Avatar), Azula (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Azula (Avatar) Redemption, Bad Parenting, Big Brother Sokka (Avatar), Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Everyone's In Therapy, Gay Zuko (Avatar), Guilt, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mentioned Ikem (Avatar), Mentioned Ozai (Avatar), Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Child Abuse, Protective Sokka (Avatar), Sibling Bonding, Siblings, Ursa (Avatar) is a Good Parent, Ursa at least tried to be a good parent even if she didn’t do a great job, Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zuko's Scar (Avatar), life is complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29388333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearmerory/pseuds/hearmerory
Summary: Azula's therapist had told her about the importance of forgiveness. That she needed to forgive other people for things they had done to her. But more importantly, as anger and guilt and frustration and arrogance warred in her head, that she needed to forgive herself.That she needed to apologize for the things she had done.The things she’d done when she was lost and spurred into violence by the voices in her head that used to be so much louder. And for the things she’d done stone cold, with no accompanying whispers.Zuko was at the center of that.And there was so much he didn’t know yet.
Relationships: Azula & Sokka (Avatar), Azula & Ursa & Zuko (Avatar), Azula & Ursa (Avatar), Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Ikem/Ursa (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Ursa & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Change of Address [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928572
Comments: 44
Kudos: 290





	Amends

**Author's Note:**

> Eh I don’t think this is a top story in this series, but it works. Have fun on the angst train!

Azula wasn’t panicking, because not even almost two years of therapy could convince her that the uptick in her heart rate and the dryness of her mouth was anything other than coincidence.

But maybe she could admit to being anxious.

Because Zuko was coming back from university for the winter break, and she was going to follow through with her therapist’s advice.

Doctor Wei had told her about the importance of forgiveness. That she needed to forgive other people for things they had done to her. But more importantly, as anger and guilt and frustration and arrogance warred in her head, that she needed to forgive herself.

That she needed to apologize for the things _she_ had done.

The things she’d done when she was lost and spurred into violence by the voices in her head that used to be so much louder. And for the things she’d done stone cold, with no accompanying whispers.

Zuko was at the center of that.

He was the beginning, middle and end of her mistakes.

He was the full circle that encompassed Mai, and Ty Lee, and her mother, and Iroh.

The full circle that encompassed her father.

So she was waiting in his room when she heard Iroh greet him as he came through the front door.

She listened to them talk for a moment, hugging and asking banal questions about each other’s day, and waited for him to come upstairs.

Eventually, his uneven, light footsteps started towards his room, and she felt the clench in her chest that was not panic tighten.

“Hi, Zuko,” she said quietly when he opened the door.

He jolted a little in surprise before a small smile spread over his face.

He looked good.

He’d grown, a little, finishing up his final growth spurt. His hair was shaggier, but somehow more styled than it had been when he’d left.

He looked like he’d been eating, and like he’d kept up his sword practice.

“Hey, Azula,” he waved awkwardly, dropping his backpack next to his desk.

“How’s school?” She asked, filling the few second silence with small talk she usually hated as much as he did.

He shrugged, but she didn’t miss how his eyes lit up.

“It’s good. Sokka loves all his classes, and I joined Mikayako’s friend’s theater troupe. We’re doing Death of a Salesman.”

“Sounds like fun,” she mustered a smile. He opened his mouth to add more, presumably a long analysis of the play, or something equally irrelevant to her goal, and she cut him off. “I need to talk to you. Sit down.”

Zuko cocked his head to one side, and his fingers stretched into an odd little jerking motion at his thigh, but he did as she’d instructed, and sat at his desk.

“My therapist says I have to apologize,” she said bluntly. That wasn’t quite how she’d wanted to start, and he frowned in confusion. “To you. Apologize to you. For the shit I did.”

Zuko’s frown deepened.

“I don’t need—”

“Yeah well I do,” she snapped. “I’m going to say sorry, and you’re going to listen to me. You don’t have to forgive me, or say anything back. But I need to say it anyway.”

Zuko’s face scrunched up.

“I... I haven’t even had any tea,” he almost pouted, like he was trying to appeal to her better nature.

“Spirits,” she rolled her eyes, “it’ll only be ten minutes, then you can run off to Iroh and drink as much leaf water as you want.”

“Uncle’s expecting me...” he protested weakly.

“He can wait.”

“I...” he couldn’t seem to think of a reason not to let her do what she wanted, and she felt a little swoop of annoyed remorse for trying to force him. Doctor Wei had told her not to do that. “Okay. I guess.”

“Good.” She let out a breath, and folded her arms across her chest. Suddenly, it felt much harder to start, and a few seconds passed before she spoke. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he shrugged, “I know you didn’t—”

“Agni, Dumdum, let me _talk_ ,” she snapped. He shrank back a little in his seat, and the wave of regret surged forward. “Just... give me a minute, okay?”

He nodded slowly, and his hands clenched in his lap as he straightened up. She hated that posture. Hated the number of times she’d watched their father roughly manipulate his body into it, and how many cuffs around the head and slaps around the face had accompanied those lessons.

“Zuko,” she softened her voice, and caught herself before she bit her lip. “I... Doctor Wei says I’m supposed to articulate some of the ways I’ve... the ways I’ve hurt people. The ways I’ve hurt you. I need... I need to do this, okay? For me. To feel... to try and feel better. But... if you don’t want me to, I... I’ll stop.”

Azula held her breath. She _never_ spoke to Zuko like that. Never spoke to _anyone_ like that. Like she was asking permission.

Slowly, Zuko nodded, and fixed his gaze on the corner of his bed, his hands relaxing slightly.

His foot bounced against the floor, and she noticed he was wearing the socks she got him for his birthday. Red, with blue circles.

She didn’t want to try and come up with a word for the feeling that sparked.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. So... so I...” Spirts, it was hard. “I hurt you. In... in a lot of ways, for a long time. And I don’t think you... I don’t think you even know about a lot of it.”

He looked up at her, confusion back on his face.

“I feel like I know a lot,” he frowned, and if anyone else had said it, it would have felt accusatory. But he didn’t sound like that.

“Y-you do,” she admitted, her stomach churning. “But... there’s probably more. Let me... let me tell you, okay?”

He nodded, and his ring finger tapped against the pad of his thumb.

“I’m... I’m gonna start backwards, I guess. So I’m sorry for being such a dick to you when I got back from the institution. I was confused, and I didn’t know what to do. So I lashed out at you, and tried to make Iroh love me more than he loves you. Doctor Wei says that’s because Father was only ever nice to one of us, and I thought Iroh would be like that too. But he’s not. And I shouldn’t have tried to push you out.”

Zuko didn’t say anything, his eyes fixed firmly back on the corner of his bed.

“And... I’m sorry... for... for shocking you. After Father... after it happened. Honestly, Zuko, I didn’t even remember doing it until a while after. Father told me what happened before he left me with Iroh. But I didn’t remember it for months. I... there was a lot happening, in my head. I wasn’t... in control.”

“I forgave you for that already,” he said quietly. “I know you weren’t trying to... to kill me.”

“That’s the lowest bar for forgiveness I’ve ever heard,” she scoffed, turning away.

“Well, I guess that’s my bar, then, for you.” He shrugged, and Azula felt a little glow of warmth, quickly eclipsed by the constricting worry about how he would react to her other apologies.

“Thanks,” she closed her eyes for a second. “I... there’s more.”

“A-alright,” he whispered, still not looking at her.

“I... when you... when you came back, because Father said he wanted you home... it wasn’t... I told you he wanted you back, but he... he didn’t really tell me that.”

Zuko’s head flicked to her, his eye narrowing in shock.

“I just... he hit me,” she whispered, “and I didn’t... I didn’t know what to _do_.”

“He _hit_ you?” Zuko lurched out of his seat and came towards her, “where? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“Agni, it was ages ago, sit _down_ ,” she covered up the next wave of what was almost affection with annoyance. “But yeah. He hit me. P-pretty hard. Not... not like you. But I couldn’t... I didn’t want...” she trailed off, and her fingers subconsciously traced her left cheek. Where she had felt the sting of the harsh slap for days after, the red mark an almost cruel echo of the scarred flesh across her brother’s face. “I didn’t want him to... to do it again. I wanted...”

“To be safe?” He whispered, the right side of his face falling into understanding sympathy.

She nodded once, stiffly.

“And I... I knew he wouldn’t... wouldn’t do it again if you were there,” she whispered. “So I lied. He didn’t say he wanted you back. I... I persuaded him. Told him he should do a trial period. To see if you’d... if you were better.”

Zuko froze, the tapping stopping entirely as he stared at her knees in shock.

“Y-you...”

“I made you come back,” she whispered, “when I knew he was going to be...”

“D-did you know?” His hands clenched into trembling fists, “did you know what he was... what he was gonna... what he’d planned?”

Azula shrank back, guilt squirming in her stomach.

“I... I knew he was planning to... test your whole... responses stuff. H-he told me... about the food, and the lights, and... and the sleeping.” Her voice dropped to a scratchy whisper, “we... we _laughed_ about it.”

Zuko screwed his eyes shut, and she could see his chest rising and falling a little too fast.

“D-did you know... the _other_ stuff?”

Azula let out a shaky breath.

“No,” she said firmly, horrified to hear a twinge of begging in her voice. “I swear I didn’t know he was gonna do _that_.”

A little of the tension left Zuko’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It... it felt like... like the only way to make him... love me again.”

She hung her head in shame. What a stupid, childish, pathetic goal.

Zuko nodded.

“I know,” he whispered back. “I did a lot of things to try and make that happen, too. It wasn’t going to work. He’s... he’s not capable of it. Not really.”

“I’m still sorry,” she wrapped her arms firmly around her chest again, letting her nails dig a little into her ribs.

Zuko nodded slowly.

“There’s... there’s more,” she bit her lip, and Zuko nodded, staring off into the corner, clearly processing. “I... there were a lot of times... when we were little. When Father would... would ask me if you were... if you were _behaving_. And I... I’d always...” she screwed her eyes shut, unable to look at him, “I’d always tell him you weren’t. That you’d done something weird, or that you’d fucked something up. I... I don’t know why I... I just wanted... every time he asked, I’d tell him something, and it was made up most of the time, and then... and then he’d... he’d punish you for it, and he’d pat me on the shoulder like... like I’d done something _good_ , and he’d... he’d say I was his good child, and then you’d be all... I’d see... see _bruises_ , and hear you crying, and I couldn’t... I couldn’t stop... I wanted... I _wanted_ you hurt. Because if you were hurt, then I was... I was safe, and he would be nice to me.”

Azula couldn’t look at him, and tears stung in the backs of her eyes.

She could still feel the warm hand on her shoulder, hear the pride in his voice, see the glint of cruel pleasure that would light his gaze.

It made her insides cold where they’d once burned with ferocious longing for his attention.

“Y-you... you told him...” he sounded like he didn’t believe it. Like he was going to protest.

“I made it _worse_ , Zuzu,” her voice cracked.

He looked up sharply.

“No,” he snapped, “no. This... this is insane. You can tell your fucking therapist that this is a stupid fucking exercise.”

“But—” she wilted in the face of his anger, and suppressed a flinch as he stood up.

“No! I’m not going to listen to you believing any of his _shit_ was your fault.”

Azula’s mouth dropped open in shock. That wasn’t where she’d thought he was going at _all_.

“You can tell your therapist to fuck right off, because whatever twisted, sick little games Father made us play were _not_ our fault. _We_ didn’t deserve it. _We_ didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Spirits, Zuzu...” she breathed, watching his hands flap stressed, tight little patterns at his sides. “Who’s been screwing _your_ head on straight?”

“I’ve been going to a support group,” he shrugged, his face still twisted in anger. Suddenly, his entire demeanor shifted for a moment, like he’d thought of something. “And Sokka’s been screwing me, but it’s not straight.”

There was a couple of seconds of silence before Azula caught on, and a burst of laughter exploded from her.

“Was that a _joke_ , big brother?”

Zuko grinned, pride blossoming across his face.

“Sokka’s been teaching me,” he nodded seriously. Azula giggled, and slapped a hand over her mouth at the sound.

“Priceless,” she shook her head, stifling more laughter. It felt good, to laugh with Zuko.

But the next moment, the frown came back, furrowing the line between scarred and unscarred skin across his forehead.

“But seriously,” he crossed his arms, burying his hands between his chest and his elbows, “I don’t want your apologies. You didn’t _do_ anything.”

Azula sighed, and the moment of happiness vanished.

“I know you... I’m sure people have been telling you it’s not your fault,” she said quietly, “and it _wasn’t_. Obviously it wasn’t. Father... Father shouldn’t have done any of that to you. But me? I was on his _side_ , Zuko. I _helped_ him. I deliberately baited him into hurting you. And even if that came from him fucking me up too, I... I still _did_ it. And I’m still sorry.”

Zuko squeezed his arms tighter around himself.

“Will you sit back down?” She chewed her lip. He looked up in surprise, and it took her a moment to realize that he probably wasn’t used to her phrasing these things as requests instead of orders.

She’d been working hard while he’d been away at school.

Having the full beam of Iroh’s kindly attentions and a team of doctors badgering her had certainly helped with that.

Slowly, he pulled the chair towards him and sat back in it, burying his hands back in his armpits.

She could practically feel his anxiety just looking at him.

“You don’t have to apologize for being what he made you,” Zuko said quietly.

“I want to,” she said, equally quiet. “I hurt you, and I didn’t feel bad. But... now I do. And I want to tell you I’m sorry.”

Slowly, Zuko nodded.

“I... I accept your apology,” he mumbled, not looking at her.

“Thank you.”

There was a long moment of silence while they both pulled themselves together a little bit.

“There’s... there’s still more,” she rubbed the back of her neck in a gesture she’d picked up from him, and pulled her hand back before he noticed.

“There’s _always_ gonna be more,” he sighed, his eyes narrowed slightly and fixed on the ceiling, his voice full of the kind of aching she couldn’t quite identify.

Azula felt the weight of his words heavy on her chest.

Yeah. There was always going to be more.

“I... I haven’t told anyone this, not even... not even _him_ ,” she started, dread pooling in her body. There was another long silence, and she waited until he looked towards her again. “I... I know where Mom is.”

Zuko blinked.

He’d never been good at hiding his feelings, and his face flashed through expressions almost quicker than she could identify.

Shock, surprise, disbelief, hope, anger, sadness.

“H-how do you... how do you know that?” Zuko’s breaths were coming shaky, each exhale split into staccato spurts of air.

“She...” Azula looked away, unable to watch his face as she told him. “She wrote to you,” she whispered, barely audible, “she wrote to you all the time, and I stole the letters and I read them and then I burned them. Every single one. For _years_.”

Zuko stared at her, his mouth open slightly.

“Y-you... she... she... she wrote to me?”

Azula felt the twist in her gut pull taught at the aching desperation in his voice.

“A few times,” she admitted.

“W-why?” He breathed. She dared a glance at him, and took in how pale he’d become. How red his undamaged eye was.

“She just told you things,” Azula shrugged, “little things. Reuniting with all her old friends. Getting out from under Father’s thumb. Ducks, and flowers, and hoping you were reading all her favorite books.”

“She... she wrote to me?”

Zuko seemed to be stuck on that fact, staring, wide eyed, at her.

“Y-yeah,” Azula’s voice cracked again. “A-and... the first letter... she... she told you to... to meet her. After school one day. So she could... so she could take you with her.”

Zuko crumbled, his entire body slumping into the chair, clutching at his thighs with both hands, nails clenching into flesh.

“T-this whole t-time...” he stammered. “I... I thought she... I thought she didn’t want me.”

“She did,” Azula choked down the sob clawing at her throat. “She wanted you. It was _me_ she didn’t want.”

Zuko shuddered, his stomach spasming visibly.

“W-what?”

“She asked you to meet her,” Azula’s breath hitched, “and she asked you not to tell me. Asked you to leave me with _him_.”

Zuko listed sideways and the chair bumped against the desk, his hands going from his thighs to his hair.

Azula stayed sitting on the bed, watching him even as her vision blurred with tears.

“I... I was so mad,” she whispered, “that she didn’t want me. So... so I burned the letter. And all the ones that came after.”

“I could have... none of it had to happen,” he breathed, shock and horror and desperation scratching his rough voice.

“I’m sorry, Zuzu,” she let the tears fall down her cheeks, and buried her face in her hands.

“This... you...” Zuko couldn’t seem to pick words, and Azula heard this breaths speed up, coming even more unevenly as his hands clenched down on his hair.

“I’m so sorry.”

Zuko didn’t say anything else, and his knuckles went white with the force he was using on his hair, tugging a little as his body rocked slightly.

“I was jealous,” she closed her eyes tight. “She... she always liked you more. She was always _nice_ to you. And I... I think I knew... even back then, that being Father’s favorite wasn’t like that. So I... I made it go away.”

Slowly, in the silence, Zuko pulled himself together.

He looked pale, almost like he was going to be sick, as he released his hair and put his head in his hands.

“I... the point of this isn’t for you to forgive me,” Azula murmured, “I just needed to tell you I’m sorry. You don’t have to say anything back. I understand if you don’t forgive me.”

“Good,” he said, and it was like he’d slammed a door in her face. She winced back, holding herself firm against his headboard.

“Okay,” she whispered, “I’ll... I’ll go.”

Zuko stayed silent, and she saw the trembles through all of his muscles as she walked past.

He stared at the wall, ignoring her, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she left, closing the door behind her.

* * *

Azula stayed in her room the rest of the evening, and didn’t come down for dinner. She listened to Zuko and Iroh talking quietly downstairs, pots banging a little as they cooked together, and wondered what Zuko was saying.

If he was telling Iroh about her newly discovered betrayal.

If he was panicking still.

If he was angry.

She turned her face into her pillow and buried herself under her duvet. It was so frustrating. They’d been getting along so much better. She’d worked so hard.

And now she’d fucked it up with her years old truths.

She sent a nasty thought to Doctor Wei. What good was this supposed to do? She didn’t feel any better. She doubted Zuko felt any better.

Who the fuck was this supposed to help?

Ever so slowly, her head full of self recrimination but not voices, she drifted into a light, fitful sleep.

* * *

What felt like seconds later, she jolted awake, missing butting heads with Zuko by an inch.

“Spirits, Zuko, what the _fuck_?” She gasped, flopping back onto the pillows. “You’re lucky I didn’t punch you, you _idiot_.”

Zuko’s lip twitched in annoyance.

“Yeah, _lucky_ ,” he almost growled.

Azula shrank back a little, and her memory of the evening before rushed back.

“What do you want?” She snapped, more harshly than she intended.

“You know where Mom is?”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Yeah...” she drew out the word.

“Is she nearby?”

“I guess? About forty minutes.”

“Forty minutes,” he repeated slowly, like he was trying to wrap his head around the tiny number.

“Yeah,” she sighed.

“You’re gonna take me there,” he announced.

“What?” Her eyebrows raised so fast it almost hurt, and her mouth fell open.

“I can’t drive,” he said bitterly. “Because our father burned half my face off and fucked up my depth perception.” She winced at the brash finality of his description. “But _you_ can. So you’re going to drive me there, and then you’re going to wait in the car, and then you’re going to drive me home.”

“Zuko, it’s late...” she couldn’t give her other objections. _Why can’t I come inside? Why can’t you ask Iroh? Or Sokka? Why can’t we just pretend this never happened?_

“She _wanted_ me,” he said it firmly, but he bit down on his lip as the words left his mouth. “She won’t care.”

Azula didn’t have an argument for that.

* * *

They drove in silence, and Azula tried not to notice how much Zuko was fidgeting. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the window, one after the other before starting again, and his other hand fluttered on his thigh as it bounced slightly.

“It’s the house with the blue front door,” Azula said, breaking the silence as she pulled up on the other side of the street.

Zuko nodded, and made no movement to get out.

“You don’t have to go, you know,” she bit her lip. “Just because she wanted you, doesn’t mean you have to go talk to her. Not if you’re not ready.”

He shook his head a little.

“I want to,” he whispered. “I... I thought... I didn’t think I’d see her again, is all.”

Azula’s shoulders slumped.

“Are you gonna tell her? That I took the letters?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

They sat in another silence, and Azula watched the clock on her dashboard flip past midnight.

“I... I’m going to go inside,” Zuko breathed, and his voice shook slightly as his hand spasmed over his knee.

“Okay,” Azula said again. “I’ll... I’ll be here. When you come back.”

He nodded firmly, took another breath, and opened the car door.

Azula watched him cross the street, each step a little slower than the one before, his shoulders hunched forward with nerves, and felt her own heart beat speed up.

She gripped the steering wheel hard as he straightened up at the door, bracing himself in a way she’d seen too many times.

She watched him curl his hands into fists and release them, trying to make the fluttering stop before he knocked, and her throat tightened.

There was a long, long moment between him knocking and the door opening, and Azula craned forward in her seat to catch a glimpse of her mother.

But the person who opened the door was a stranger. A man in sweatpants and a hoodie, his dark hair streaked with grey.

Zuko took a step back, and she saw him stammer out a few sentences before the man’s face warped from skeptical curiosity into an angry scowl.

The man closed the gap between himself and her brother in one fast stride, and she saw Zuko freeze, his hands coming up to guard his face before instantly dropping, just like she’d seen them do a thousand times when their father had stepped towards him.

The man grabbed the front of Zuko’s t-shirt, and Azula flung herself at the car door, sudden panic flooding through her as the man shook him, shouting something into his face.

Her seatbelt stopped her from moving, and the next second Zuko had broken free of the man’s grasp and stumbled backwards, hands raised in fearful surrender, the flutters back in full force.

She stabbed at the seatbelt release, desperately trying to free herself from the car’s confines, but by the time she’d managed to wrestle herself out of the belt, Zuko had wrenched open the back door and thrown himself inside, and she simply put her foot down and sped away, tiers screeching on the road.

“What the _fuck_?” She yelled, panic clawing at her throat.

Zuko let out a high pitched, agonized whine, and her entire brain shut off.

He wasn’t _allowed_ to make that noise.

She looked at him in the rear view mirror, saw his hands clutching at his hair as he rocked back and forth, the whining getting louder and louder as his knuckles turned white.

“Stop it!” She snapped.

He screwed his entire face up in some facsimile of agony, and she slapped her palm against the steering wheel as she took a random turn.

“Shut up! Stop doing that!”

He wasn’t allowed to make that noise. He wasn’t allowed to move like that. He wasn’t allowed to do any of that, to respond that way, to be such a _freak_.

The whine spiraled into a desperate screeching noise, and he whacked his head sideways into the window, over and over, his fingernails digging into his scalp.

It was the third bash of his head on the glass that shook her out of the blankness in her head, and she deliberately slowed down the car as they rounded the next corner.

“Shit,” she closed her eyes for a second, and his entire body spasmed as his head hit the window again. “Shit, shit, _shit_!”

She couldn’t remember what to do. She was supposed to help him. To make him stop hurting himself before he did any real damage. To make him calm, and peaceful, rather than just quiet and more afraid.

“Zuko,” she tried, “Zuko, what can I do?”

He didn’t answer, but his next noise was louder, more insistent, and sounded like he was gritting his teeth hard enough to crack his jaw.

“Okay,” she whispered firmly to herself. She needed someone else.

They were almost forty minutes from home still, and she couldn’t let him smash his skull open on the window.

She rounded another corner and merged onto the highway, accelerating sharply into the outside lane, overtaking the sparse late night traffic and pulling the little car well over the speed limit.

“We’ll go to Sokka’s, okay? You said he was going home for the break too? Iroh will be in bed already, but you students don’t stop at midnight, right? He’ll be awake. He’ll know what to do.”

She drove faster as his screeching whines elongated into moans and he rocked fast in the back seat, the side of his head hitting the window every few seconds, his legs bouncing wildly against the floor.

“Stop!” She yelled to be heard over his noises, unable to do any of the things she’d seen other people do when he got like this. She couldn’t hug him, or give him that stupid weighted toy Sokka’d got him, or pull his hands away from his hair where he was tearing it from his scalp, or yank him away from all the hard surfaces he could throw himself against.

Her hands shook on the steering wheel as she pulled out to overtake another car, pressing her foot down again to speed up even further over the limit.

“Just _stop_! You’re fine! Nothing’s happening, you’re fine. Don’t you _dare_ hit your head again!”

He disobeyed almost instantly, and his noise faltered for a moment into a choked off groan of pain before his rocking just intensified, his entire body a line of shuddering tension.

There was nothing she could do, so she turned on the radio and drowned out his sounds with loud music, her grip tight on the wheel as she sped towards Sokka’s house, desperate helplessness clogging her throat and thudding her heart faster and faster.

_Make him quiet!_

The familiar, angry voice roared up in the back of her head, and she had the sudden urge to reach behind her and grab his arms, or pull over and smack his head heard enough into the window to make him stop.

She turned the music up to push the voice away, and it grumbled down under the surface.

Zuko’s screeches kept going until his voice cracked and turned into grunts as she pulled off the highway and started on familiar roads towards Sokka and Katara’s street.

She looked at her hands as she pulled down on the turn signal so she could pull into the residential area, and noticed she was shaking.

A wave of panic and self-disgust and annoyance surged in her chest.

This had been such a stupid idea.

Of course it would have gone bad. Of course they wouldn’t have just been able to walk into their mother’s new house and suddenly be some kind of family, no matter how much the tiny part of herself had ached hopefully for it.

And of course Zuko had to freak out. He always did.

Finally, _finally_ , she pulled over outside Sokka’s house, and turned off the music.

Zuko was still loud, even though his voice had gone harsh and raspy.

“Right,” she said firmly, loud enough for him to hear her. “We’re here. Let’s go get Sokka, and he’ll sort you out.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t move to get out of the car, didn’t stop rocking and tugging his hair and bumping against the door.

Azula opened her door, stepped out into the street, and moved to the back of the car, pulling his door open just as he was about to hit it again.

He tumbled forwards, and only just caught himself in a violent rock upwards before he fell out of the car entirely.

“Come on,” she snapped, her throat tight with the knowledge that she had no idea what to do.

He looked up, glazed eyes landing on her shoulder, and she took in his face.

The unscarred side was streaked with tears, his eyes red and unfocused, his skin pale and sweaty with the effort of rocking.

His forehead was a mess of bright red marks that would definitely bruise, and his hair was wrecked by his fingers twined between damp chunks.

“Stand up,” she ordered, “we’re going inside.”

He let out another whine and squeezed his eyes closed, pulling his knees tighter into his chest as he kept rocking.

“Come _on_!” She yelled, “spirits, Zuko, you’re eighteen fucking years old, stand up and come inside so Sokka can help you! Stop being such a _baby_!”

She reached for him and closed her hand, hard, around his arm, trying to pull him out of the car.

She’d barely yanked once before he was scrambling away, eyes wide in absolute terror as he fell into the footwell on the other side of the car and curled into a ball, hiding his face under the seat and wrapping his hands around the back of his head like he was trying to protect himself from a blow.

The whining got louder, one long, continuous, piercing cry that grated against her eardrums.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Azula screamed, panic flushing out every other thought from her brain except getting him to Sokka.

The voices roared, louder than they’d been in months, and she kicked the car in an effort not to simply climb into the back and shut him up how their father would have.

The urge to kneel up on the seat above him and pummel her fists into his side was almost overwhelming, and she could almost feel his hair wrapped in her hand as she held him down to get a better angle for the familiar brand of discipline.

She stepped back from the car just as she heard him swing his head backwards into the other door, more softly than he had been before because he was so confined.

She couldn’t be trusted here alone.

She couldn’t fix this while her entire body was alight with the need to _hurt_.

She had to get Sokka.

“Sokka!” She screamed into the street, “Sokka _,_ get the _fuck_ down here!”

Her voice cracked viciously at her sheer volume and pitch.

Zuko whacked his head again, and Azula grabbed a pebble to throw up at the window just as the front door opened.

“Tui and fucking _La_ , Azula, what the fuck are you doing?” Sokka snapped, stumbling out of the house in pajama pants and a hoodie. “You’re going to get someone arrested!”

“He’s gonna get _himself_ arrested if he doesn’t shut up!” Azula spat, “he’s only foaming at the fucking _mouth_ away from getting himself thrown in psychiatric hold!”

“Get in the house,” Sokka shoved her towards the front door as he noticed Zuko. “What happened?”

“He won’t stop making that damned _noise_!” She clenched her hands into fists and let her nails drive into her palms. “I told him it was a stupid idea! I _told_ him!”

“What did you do?” Sokka growled, turning to the car.

“We went to see Mother,” she squeezed her eyes shut against the shock on his face and Zuko’s noises. “And he went fucking _crazy_!”

“Spirits,” Sokka ran a hand down his face and pushed past her, grabbing the car keys out of her hand. “Go inside.”

Azula turned away from the sight of her brother hitting his head and rushed inside, slamming the front door behind her.

The house was silent, and the slam echoed, shaking the ceiling slightly.

Azula threw herself down on the couch and punched the armrest, hard.

Stupid fucking therapy. Stupid fucking apologies. Stupid fucking Mom. Stupid fucking _Zuko_.

Why couldn’t anything just work how it was supposed to work? Why was everything so _difficult_?

Nothing had ever been this hard when she was still with Father.

She hated the thought as it appeared in her mind.

But it wasn’t a lie. Things had been easier then. Everything had been simple cause and effect. Everything had been made up of perfectly drawn dichotomies.

Mother against Father.

Zuko against Azula.

Actions that won praise and actions that won beatings.

No grey areas, no decisions.

But it hadn’t been real. Hadn’t been _living_.

Living was messy, and a thousand shades of wrong choices.

Living was telling old secrets and having everything blow up in her face.

Living was _still_ having to watch her brother cry, more than two years since they’d last spoken to their father.

“Azula?”

Katara.

Azula swiped at her eyes, which were absolutely not wet, and scowled up at her sort-of-friend. The other girl was dressed almost exactly the same as Sokka, grey sweatpants and a blue hoodie.

“Are you okay?”

Spirits, why did she have to be so _nice_?

“I’m fine,” she said stiffly. “It’s _Zuko_ who’s—” she swallowed her automatic descriptors. _Misbehaving_. _Acting like a freak_. “Sokka’s with him.”

“Did something happen?” Katara came over to the couch and sat down. Azula had fully expected her to go straight out to the car, but she just sat and looked at Azula with wide, questioning eyes.

“I... I don’t know,” she gave in to the urge to wrap her arms around her middle, and ducked her head.

“Are you both safe?” Katara put her hand on Azula’s shoulder, and it was only the months of developing friendship between them that stopped her from pulling away immediately.

She nodded, and it seemed to be enough for Katara, who visibly relaxed.

“Want to watch TV until the boys come in?”

Azula nodded again, and they sat in companionable silence in front of late night cartoons.

* * *

Half an hour later, Sokka opened the front door awkwardly with one hand, his arm looped around Zuko’s leg as he supported the slightly shorter boy on his back.

Azula whipped around to watch them, and stayed quiet with a warning glare from Sokka.

Zuko was half asleep, his head resting on Sokka’s shoulder, his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist.

Slowly, Sokka carried him upstairs, whispering words Azula couldn’t hear as they went.

“Shit,” Katara breathed as the boys reached the top of the stairs and turned towards Sokka’s bedroom. “He doesn’t look so good.”

Azula bit down hard on the inside of her lip to stop herself from snapping.

Katara huffed a little and pressed her leg up to Azula’s.

“He’ll be okay,” she said quietly. “Sokka’s got him. He knows what to do.”

Azula didn’t answer, fixing her gaze back on the television, steadfastly ignoring everything else around her.

Ignoring the purpling bruise across her brother’s forehead.

Ignoring Zuko’s limp limbs flung around Sokka.

Ignoring Katara’s hand, steadily resting on her tense shoulder.

She didn’t get to ignore the world for long before Sokka was back, bare feet slapping against the wooden stairs.

“What the fuck did you do?” He hissed, clenching the back of the couch as Azula stood up, Katara seconds behind her.

“Me?” She sneered, “I didn’t do anything!”

“Bullshit,” Sokka shook his head, knuckles whitening, “he hasn’t had a meltdown like that in _months_ , and I leave him with you for _one_ evening—”

“So, what, it’s _my_ fault he freaked out? Agni, Sokka, he’s been doing that shit his whole life, it has nothing to do with me!”

Sokka’s grip tightened impossibly hard on the couch, his hands shaking with effort.

“He gets like that when he’s overwhelmed. When he’s so fucking stressed he can’t cope with it anymore. When he gets triggered. And you did what? Took him to his Mom’s house in the middle of the night, when he hasn’t seen her for _eight fucking years_? What _happened_ , Azula? Why is there a fucking red mark on his arm like someone _grabbed_ him? What. Did. You. _Do_?”

Azula felt her stomach drop. She’d grabbed him, trying to pull him out of the car. Had she really gripped hard enough to mark him?

Katara looked from Sokka to Azula like she was ready to stand between them.

“Yeah!” Azula snarked, not quite processing her words in the aftermath of the revelation that she’d _hurt_ Zuko. “Yeah, we went to see Mom! What’s it to you, huh?”

“I can’t believe you would do something so irresponsible!” Sokka’s jaw ticked as he clenched it tighter.

“ _Irresponsible_?” Azula’s voice rose in pitch again, “he’s an _adult_ , Sokka, not some snotty little kid you can _babysit_! He wanted to go and I took him, because he can make his own fucking decisions!”

Sokka’s ears flushed red as his hands tightened again into the couch, rucking up the fabric.

“I’m not saying he can’t!” He snapped, “but it’s not fair to him to throw him unprepared and unsupported into difficult shit!”

“He said he wanted to go, so I took him! What was I supposed to do, refuse?”

“Yes! At least tonight! What were you _thinking_ , taking him there at fucking midnight?”

“I was _thinking_ that he _asked_!”

Sokka threw his hands up in exasperation, and Azula scowled.

“Guys, come on, let’s settle down,” Katara pacified, settling a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “We’re not going to get anywhere yelling about it.”

“You didn’t _see_ him, Katara,” Sokka shoved the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“I know,” she said soothingly. “He’s gonna be okay though. You know he is. You two always make it work out.”

Sokka took a deep breath and lowered his hands, resting them deep in the pockets of his pajamas.

He looked up at Azula, and she took in just how _tired_ he looked. Deep purple smudges lined his eyes, and the acne she’d remembered from the summer had disappeared under the shadow of his unshaved jaw.

He looked much tireder than he should have looked simply for being up late. He looked exhausted.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” he said quietly. “Please can you tell me what happened today?”

Azula’s shoulders slumped out of their defensive tightness, and she nodded slowly, only just managing to stop herself from biting her lip.

“We went to see Mother.”

“But... _why_?” Sokka looked baffled, eyebrows raised and mouth turned down.

“I... I told Zuko something. A secret. And the upshot was that he realized she didn’t abandon him quite like he’d thought, and he wanted to go see her. So we went. And some man answered the door.”

“You don’t know who he was?” Katara asked. Azula shook her head.

“My guess is boyfriend or something. Zuko talked for like fifteen seconds, and I stayed in the car. He didn’t want me coming in. They talked, and the guy grabbed his t-shirt and shook him a little before Zuko managed to get away and come back to the car. Then I drove here while he was having his tantrum.”

“It’s not a _tantrum_ ,” Sokka’s hands curled up into fists in his pocket, “it’s called a _meltdown_ , and he doesn’t do it on _purpose_!”

Azula rolled her eyes before she could stop herself.

“Thanks Sokka, what would I do without your spectacular, novel insights into _my_ brother?”

Sokka bristled, and Katara put her hand back on his arm, warning him off.

“You did good, bringing him here,” Katara said gently, and Azula pretended she didn’t feel the warm relief settle some of the rolling emotions in her chest.

She nodded, and Sokka sighed deeply again, clearly trying to martial his breathing.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Okay. Azula, you should stay here tonight, Zuko’s not going anywhere right now. Text Iroh and tell him where you both are, so he doesn’t worry in the morning. We should all just... get some rest. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

Azula nodded stiffly, and Katara set about finding sheets and blankets for the couch while Sokka disappeared back upstairs and Azula texted Iroh.

“He means well,” Katara said gently, fluffing up a pillow from the hall closet. “He’s just a little over protective.”

Azula huffed.

“Okay,” Katara pulled her into a hug and let go too quickly for her to pull away. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

Azula watched her go back upstairs, and lay down on the couch, reaching over to flip off the lamp.

It wasn’t the angry voices that whispered to her in the dark.

It was her mother’s gentle cadence, trying to reassure her that she hadn’t ruined everything, and the soft, thin, unreal feeling of a hand stroking her hair, that sent her to sleep.

* * *

Azula woke up to the quiet sounds of breakfast being made in the kitchen, the smell of pancakes and bacon, and the low roughness of her brother’s voice.

She lay still for a few minutes, trying to hear what he and Sokka were saying, but they were too far away and trying too hard to be quiet for her to listen.

Slowly, she rolled off the couch and went through, propping herself against the wall opposite where they were sitting.

Zuko’s bruised head was resting gently on Sokka’s shoulder as they talked, Sokka’s finger drawing circles around Zuko’s palm on the table as they ate their pancakes.

It made Azula’s chest ache.

“Morning,” she broke the quiet murmuring of their conversation, and they looked up, Zuko a second or so after Sokka, to see her.

“Morning,” Sokka smiled, one eye screwed shut in more of a grimace, like he half expected to get yelled at. “Sorry. ‘Bout last night. I was kind of a dick.”

“I get it.” She shrugged.

Zuko smiled tiredly, not raising his head off Sokka’s shoulder, content to be in the vulnerable position in front of her.

“So,” Sokka gestured to the stack of pancakes in the middle of the table and the empty plate next to his. “We’re coming up with a plan.”

“A plan?” She sat down, pulling the plate towards her.

“Yeah. We’re going to go talk to your mom.”

She gaped at him for a moment.

“I thought you said that was a bad idea,” she said cooly, stabbing a pancake a little too viciously.

Zuko’s hand jumped at the sound of her fork hitting the plate, and he raised his head off Sokka’s shoulder.

“No,” Sokka frowned at her before pulling Zuko’s hand closer again and repeating the little circles he’d been drawing on his palm, “I said you shouldn’t have gone in the middle of the night with no plan. I actually think it’s a good thing.” His voice deepened and quietened for a moment. “I’m glad you have the opportunity.”

Zuko’s fingers curled up into Sokka’s, and squeezed lightly. Azula felt the swoop of remorse sink through her as she remembered that Sokka and Katara would never have even that.

“So what’s your plan then?” She refused to look up from her food.

“First off, I want to work out who the guy was. Did he say anything to you, Zuko?”

Zuko bit his lip.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “I think... well, he knew Mom. I told him who I am, and I got... he got mad. He said it was cruel to play tricks like that on people. I don’t... I don’t know what that means.”

He turned to Sokka, clearly hoping for some kind of explanation, and Azula stiffened in horror.

“I...” she croaked, “I forgot about that...”

The memory had been lost among the rest of the horrible days after Zuko’s burn.

“I think Father... I think he told Mother you _died_ ,” she whispered. Sokka and Zuko’s heads whipped up in perfect time with each other to stare at her. “After the burn. I remember... we were packing up your stuff, and he found her scripts, and he laughed. You know, the... the _scary_ laugh.”

Zuko shuddered, and Azula felt her muscles tensing. They were familiar with that laugh.

“He called Mother, and told me to sound like I was crying in the background. He said you’d been in an accident, and you’d died. That we’d already had the funeral and he forgot to invite her.”

“That’s _sick_ ,” Sokka scowled, wrapping his arm around Zuko’s shoulders. Azula could see them both shaking a little, and locked her body down to stop herself from doing it too. “No offense guys, but your dad is a fucking psycho.”

Zuko’s hand clenched in Sokka’s t-shirt, and Azula nodded once.

“So if we go with my assumption that the man who answered the door is a boyfriend or something, and that Mother thinks Zuko is dead, then he probably thought it was some kind of prank. So we need to get Zuko and Mother in the same room.”

“She... she might not recognize me,” Zuko said quietly, the hand that wasn’t buried in Sokka’s shirt ghosting across his scar.

Azula nodded, trying and failing for the thousandth time to conjure an image of his face before it’d been mutilated. She had the nebulous feeling that he’d been handsome. Cute. That the burn disguised an even symmetry that she’d never quite had.

“You don’t look that different,” Sokka said softly. Zuko scoffed, turning away. “She’ll recognize you.”

“We can take photos,” Azula suggested. “From when you were younger but after it happened.”

Zuko shook his head.

“There aren’t any,” he mumbled. “I wouldn’t let Uncle take any. Not for a long time.”

They were quiet for a moment, one of Zuko’s still fisted in Sokka’s t-shirt, the other tapping slow patterns on the table.

“Okay,” Azula sighed, “we’ll do without, then. I can tell her.”

“No,” Zuko said firmly. “No, you’re not coming.”

Hurt spiked though her chest, and she yanked it into anger before it could settle.

“You’re not in charge, Zuzu, you can’t tell me what to do,” she spat.

“I can when it’s _your_ fault this is even an issue,” he hissed, and she saw the anger in his eyes.

“I was _nine_!” She snapped, “I don’t know what you want me to do about it, I already apologized!”

“You said I didn’t have to accept, and I haven’t! You ruined _everything_!”

“Woah,” Sokka soothed, pulling him closer with his arm around his shoulders. “What’s happening?”

“She burned Mom’s letters!” Zuko ripped away from Sokka, his voice cracking, “she made me think Mom didn’t _want_ me, but she _lied_! Mom wanted to take me with her! _None_ of it had to happen!”

Angry tears welled in Zuko’s good eye, and he stood up, towering over Azula.

“This is _your_ fault,” he covered his scar with his hand, teeth gritted together in rage. Azula’s soul went cold, every muscle freezing in shock and horror at his words. “I spent _years_ thinking it was mine, but it was all _you_! I could have left! I could have grown up with Mom! But no! I had to get the shit kicked out of me every other day for _years_ , and have half my face scorched off, all because _you_ were _jealous_!”

“Zuko...” Sokka breathed, horrified, “Zuko, she was just a kid...”

“ _So was_ _I_!” Zuko yelled, his voice breaking as the tears finally fell.

Azula closed her eyes tight, fighting with every fiber of her being not to break down. Not to shake. Not to cry.

He was right. She ruined everything.

“Come here,” Sokka whispered, holding out his arms, waiting for Zuko to come back to him.

There was a moment where it looked like he was just going to bolt, but then his entire body slumped down into the chair, and he curled his torso uncomfortably into Sokka’s lap, burying his face in his hip.

“There we go,” Sokka rubbed a comforting hand up and down his back. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Azula heard her own voice beg from a long way away. “I said I was sorry.”

Sokka flashed her a sympathetic look that was clearly asking her to shut up, and she clenched her hands into fists to keep her from leaving the room.

Zuko’s shoulders shook, and she could hear his little panting breaths from across the table.

“Want me to make some choices, bud?” Sokka whispered into his hair, bending his whole body over Zuko’s. Protecting him. Shielding him.

She saw him nod slightly, and then his body relaxed, boneless, and Sokka’s hand found its way into his hair.

“Okay,” Sokka said quietly, “so, the three of us are going to drive back to your Mom’s house this morning. If we don’t think that your Mom is going to recognize Zuko, then I think Azula should come in with us. We won’t stay longer than thirty minutes, even if everything’s going okay. That will be plenty of time without being overwhelming. Does that sound okay to you guys?”

Slowly, Azula nodded, and Zuko squeezed Sokka a little tighter in confirmation.

“Then it looks like we have a plan.”

* * *

Azula felt the prickling of deja vu as she pulled up to her Mother’s house.

The boys had chosen to sit in the back together rather than make Zuko let go of Sokka’s hand, and she felt inexplicably like an intruder. Like she was just the driver.

She set her jaw against the little voice that pointed out that she deserved it. That all of this was her fault.

“You guys ready?” Sokka broke the silence, looking up at Azula through the rear view mirror before glancing down at Zuko’s too-tight grip on his hand.

Jerkily, Azula nodded, and they waited for Zuko’s confirmation.

“Ready,” he whispered.

“Okay. Remember, one of you gets uncomfortable, we all leave, no questions or judgements.”

They nodded.

“Okay,” Sokka put on a bright smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s do this.”

Zuko followed Sokka out of the door behind Azula, and they walked up to the house together.

Azula’s stomach kept doing uncomfortable flips, and she felt the urge to go back to the car and just _leave_ , to never have to see the flesh and bone form of the woman who had featured in so many of her hallucinations and dreams.

But then Sokka was knocking on the door, and Zuko’s entire body was shaking, his hand flapping wildly next to hers, and she grabbed it, holding on tight, like they did when they were small.

Zuko looked down at their clasped hands, his mouth opening to question it, and she kept her gaze focused resolutely on the door, refusing to acknowledge it.

Before he could speak, the door opened, and something inside Azula’s chest faltered and cracked.

Mom.

She was older. Her hair greying at her temples. All the skinniness Azula remembered gone from her frame.

Her eyes were the same.

Zuko’s eyes.

She frowned down at the three of them before her confused gaze landed on Azula, and their eyes met in reality for the first time in years.

“Azula,” she breathed, her hand coming up to cover her mouth in shock before she wrenched her eyes away to look at the boys. She passed over Sokka, and then her entire face crumpled into anguished relief as she settled on Zuko between them. “ _Zuko_.”

Before Azula could fully register what was happening, she was on her knees, wedged firmly between her mother and her brother on the porch, her face buried into the side of her mother’s neck as they both sobbed, Zuko’s hand still clenched in hers.

“My babies,” her mother whispered, over and over, her hands clutching at them like they were going to disappear at any moment. “ _Look_ at you!”

Though the muffled buzzing of her own mind, she heard Zuko crying, Sokka stepping away, and a raw, wounded noise that seemed to be coming from her own throat.

Time passed by, uncountable and uncounted, until Azula’s knees were aching and her throat was sore and her eyes stung.

Her mother’s hand moved from where it had been wrapped in her sweater to cup the back of her head, her other had doing the same to Zuko.

They pulled away from each other slightly, so that she could see them.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispered. She leaned forward and touched her forehead to Azula’s. “My good girl,” she turned and leaned into Zuko, “my beautiful boy.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Zuko choked out, tears streaming down the unmarked side of his face.

Their mother frowned, and landed a kiss on his forehead.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart. Agni... I can’t believe you’re here. I thought... your father told me...” her voice cracked, and she looked down, wave after wave of hurt crossing her face, “he told me you were _dead_.”

“He lied,” Azula said quietly, venomously.

“Obviously,” Zuko’s jaw clenched with the effort of not bursting into tears again.

Ursa’s hand left the back of Azula’s head, and she turned slightly to face Zuko head on.

Slowly, her hands came up to cup Zuko’s face, her thumbs grazing his cheeks as tears spilled down her skin.

“What happened?” She whispered, stroking the burn lightly.

Zuko closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, his breath coming in needy whimpers.

Ursa’s gaze flicked questioningly to Azula.

“Dad held an... an i-iron to his face,” she explained, her voice blank and quiet, “because he had a meltdown at a party.”

Ursa choked on a sob and pulled Zuko close, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as she buried his face in her chest.

“I’m so sorry,” she moaned, “I’m so sorry I left, spirits, I’m so sorry!”

They didn’t reply.

Azula suddenly felt like an intruder, kneeling next to her mother and brother as they hugged, Zuko’s shoulders shaking and tears streaming down Ursa’s face.

She stood up quickly, backing away to stand by Sokka instead.

She didn’t throw him off when he put an arm around her shoulders, but she refused to lean into him, standing stiffly and watching.

It was a long time before Zuko pulled away, finally overwhelmed by the touching, and they stood up too.

Ursa wiped her face with her sleeve, blinking rapidly to stop the tears continuing to fall, and turned to Sokka.

“Hi,” Sokka waved, a sad smile on his face as his arm twitched around Azula’s shoulder, a comforting if slightly alien weight.

“Hi,” Ursa reached out and kept her hand lightly connected to Zuko, unwilling to let him go completely.

“This is Sokka,” Zuko said, his voice raspier than normal, “he’s my...” he paused nervously, shooting an almost fearful look at his mother’s face. Azula’s heart clenched. It wasn’t fair. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Ursa blinked, looking between them in surprise. She recovered herself quickly.

“I’m so proud of you,” she leaned forward to kiss his unscarred cheek, and he slumped a little in relief.

“Nice to meet you,” Sokka offered. Ursa smiled properly at him, and motioned him over for a hug. With one last squeeze of Azula’s shoulder, he went to her, and let her wrap her arms around him.

Azula looked at Zuko, taking in his pale face and red eyes.

“Would you like to come in?” Ursa let Sokka go, and looked around at them all. “We can have some tea? Talk?”

Sokka looked calculatingly at Zuko before sweeping his eyes over Azula. She scowled at him, not liking that he was clearly assessing her comfort levels.

“If that’s okay with everyone,” Sokka said slowly, reaching out to take Zuko’s hand and squeeze it.

Zuko nodded jerkily, and Azula shrugged.

“Sure,” he smiled at Ursa, and she beamed damply back at him.

* * *

“I’ll drive, yeah?” Sokka said quietly an hour later as they left the house, full of cookies, tea, and stories from the missing eight years of their relationship. Sokka pulled Zuko in and landed a quick kiss to the top of his head. “You two sit in the back.”

They acquiesced without complaint, Azula sitting behind Sokka and Zuko on the other side, only a few inches apart.

They drove in silence for a long time, Zuko’s head leaning on the glass, Azula’s eyes drooping with tiredness.

As they turned onto Iroh’s street, Zuko adjusted himself in his seat to face her. A moment of fear flickered through her entire body as he fixed his eyes somewhere just above hers.

“I wish you hadn’t kept her letters from me,” he said quietly. Her breath hitched. This was it. The end of everything they’d been trying to build since they’d left their father. “I wish a lot of things could have been different.”

“I’m sorry,” she croaked, suddenly glad that he wasn’t likely to look her in the eye. She didn’t think she could cope with looking directly into his face when he told her they were done.

He was her brother. She didn’t want him to hate her.

“I know,” he whispered, his eyes closing tight for a moment as his hands flicked in his lap. “I forgive you.”

The entire world slowed down. The sounds of the car engine filtered out, the bright sunshine dulled a little, and her heart stopped for a moment.

Shock seared through her, blistering and hot as she processed his words.

“Y-you... forgive me?” She breathed.

“I forgive you,” he repeated with a firm nod. “You’re my sister. I love you. And I forgive you.”

It took every tiny reserve of energy she had not to sob, relief soothing all the aches and burns from her soul.

She burned through the energy it took to repress her feelings in seconds, and reached out to grab his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Thank you,” her breath came out sharp and choppy as she shuddered over the words.

Zuko squeezed her hand back, and a small, genuine smile spread over his face. Maybe he felt the weight releasing too.

“We’re still... there’s more work to do. But I _do_ forgive you,” he sighed, leaning over to kiss her forehead.

She relaxed back into her seat, eyes pricking with tears she knew she wouldn’t let fall, and her heart lifted.

She was forgiven.

**Author's Note:**

> ugh I love them so much
> 
> Don’t worry guys, there’s more Ursa to come. We’re not going to leave it without confronting the fact that she left her kids in that hellhole, even if we do feel sympathy with her as a domestic abuse victim herself.


End file.
